METAFOIL is both a depiction of a new kind of landscape as well as an attempt to reimagine the heavy metal sculpture as a stage curtain. It is also a contemporary take on the centuries-old tradition of weaving, updated with digital technology.

METAFOIL takes advantages of the captive gaze of the audience, introducing a foil, a false reflection, an illusion of depth, a novel topography that disrupts expectation and challenges perception. Sculptural, seemingly spatial, the stage curtain rejects its inherent flatness.

METAFOIL plays with shifts in scale. Up close, it is a rich texture of overlapping colors; a few feet away, individual threads give way to form, a pattern emerges. From the vantage point of the audience it becomes a view into an otherworldy place, a metallic composition of colors and shapes.

last night i went to the season’s-end closing festival at dyrehavsbakken, the world’s oldest amusement park, with a brother-sister duo i met while they were skinny dipping in the sound between sweden and the DK. i’d gone over to this guy justin’s house (he’s a pole-vaulter from trinity– the one in texas) to have cajun chicken and spinach with his two fratty mc frat frat housemates from villanova, both of whom consistently wear athletic shorts and t-shirts boasting of grand success in alcohol driven and/or based competitions (e.g. basketball,beer pong, flip cup). we were taking a post-dinner stroll to the coast after being called out by the matriarch of the house attached to their student apartment for rampant alcoholism via inspection of giant beer-can-only curbside trash, and when we got there there were hundreds — thousands, even — of motorcycles roaring down the seaside road, with police cycles flanking them, as far as the eye could see. the stream of bikes went on for about twenty minutes before most of us could cross, though travis, the shorter, rotund-er, and more intensely intoxicated of the two roommates, had run across the road much earlier, narrowly avoiding death on about four counts. the remaining three finally reached the beach and had a long conversation about energy politics while travis did some weird ballet dancing on a sea wall and disappeared down the beach with a six-pack of carlsberg and a sherlock holmes pipe.

he came running back almost an hour later and said, “i met some DANES! come on! they said to come with them! we don’t need any money! come on!” and so we followed him down the beach because even when i am baffled i am Up For It, and we trudged through the sand until we reached casper and henriette. h was young and kind of tubby, clearly a huge myspacer with a side of up and coming alch-y, and casper (by this point they’d gotten dressed again) was decked out in bike shorts, an intensely multicolored windbreaker, aviators, and a baseball cap from which he’d draped one long strand of seaweed, like some kind of earlock from the deep. they were both really sweet, though the first thing casper said after introducing himself was (to travis), “yeah. i saw her tits. and she saw my dick, and it was like — you know.” we followed them to a gas station where travis bought another ten-pack of beer and, in a spanish accent, asked a stranger (with joint-pinching hand motion and requisite inhale) “do you know marijuana? do you know where we could find some?” as a thankfully off-duty police officer was stepping into his station wagon. onward.

we followed them to bakken, where casper had to go because, as he said, “this– girl, one of my girlfriends — or, she is not my girlfriend, but.. she is one of …” (henrietta here interrupted, “she is one he fucks, he wants to fuck a lloottttt of girls, he is a play-uh!” and giggled uncontrollably as casper nodded in agreement) “yes, she works at the pub there.” the pub was located in the very center of the park, under the roller coaster, and it was a beautiful walk– it was an hour or two after dark and there were millions of lights strung up through the trees, with booths of cotton candy and weinerbrod and local beer parked all over the sidewalks, and even the mimes were more beautiful than creepy with the pastel glow of the carnival bulbs cast across their face paint. the pub was small and dimly lit; everything was draped in rubber-coated chicken wire formed to look like the walls of a cave. henriette taught me the intonation needed to properly growl the slang term for beer (like a bear: HULLLLLLLLLLLL!) and showed us how to toaste (skoal!), and also explained to us every danish holiday ever to exist in great detail. TIME LAPSE. casper went behind the bar and back into the kitchen with a stoned-looking blonde girl, presumably to capitalize on the very-willing wet kisses he’d been getting while perched on the edge of our table, and the rest of us said goodbye to some middle aged men who’d been raving about america the beautiful and went to go ride the wooden roller coaster. it was fun.

post-coaster, we said goodbye to henriette and went through three sad hugs apiece before we were able to flee the park and (illegally) board a train for charlottenlund, where justin reheated the spinach and i repeatedly though to myself, “did that really just happen?” before packing up my russian novels and heading back home to amagerbro, with a pit-stop at the 7-11 for (don’t fight it, you know you dig my product placement) A LITER OF MILK. and then i went to bed. and then i slept through four alarms and all of my classes. but as you can see, it was totally, totally worth it.

today i went to an icelandic cafe with washing machines and dryers called “the laundromat cafe,” originally to do homework, though i ended up talking to loren (psu) and jacob (brandeis) for a couple of hours and drinking, separately, some ginger ale and a double espresso. then i wandered around the not-so-sexy-anymore red light district in search of a cafe where my orientation group was meeting for free food and drink. because i mocked this navigational exercise, it was incredibly difficult to find, and i meandered around in the rain for a billion years until i got there — but it was entirely worthwhile, as they had veggie burger patties made of carrots and cheese (OMFG) and really, really good roast potatoes. and coke light. i love coke light, and i love it so many more times when it is free.

my philosophy teacher (the one whose brain i want to eat) just sent me this email:

Totally OK! :-)

Brian

so cute.

anyways, i am hells of tired and i have to attempt to wake up tomorrow morning so i can go to the danish cinematheque for my history of european film class. we are going to watch a hells of unpromising documentary on ingmar bergman. i am pretty sure i spelled that wrong. it’s okay because the current president of free culture at swarthmore is in that class, and he is buddy buddy with nelson pavlovsky, the super weird guy who so i am going to slip some kind of reference to this into my obnoxious-group-of-americans-chit-chatting-down-the-sidewalk-banter, even though i’m a giant creeper, only being aware of this information because i did a little bit of snooping around the course server forum before i went on the first day.

i should probably appropriate that sherlock holmes pipe.

this country is not getting any less weird. i miss everyone. see you in the winter.

tonight i made a friend named jacob laz-r. he’s maybe an inch shorter than i am with really sad eyes; he goes to brandeis, he’s into choral music, he likes clothes, and he’s pretty gay. when i say that i am referring to the multitude of sexual-preference claims he threw into tonight’s conversation– blah blah presidency at the queer alliance, flock of lesbian friends at smith, many ex-boyfriends, unflagging interest in the designer of my jacket,”i don’t usually go to straight clubs,” and so on. i’m inclined to believe most of this was for the benefit of Frumpy Angela, a particularly unattractive minority studies major from gettysburg who was kinda getting all up on him at the Barbar Bar tonight. no matter: how brilliant an idea it is for jacob to be wholly uninterested in girls! it will be impossible for me to get myself into trouble. i do wish i could stop this trend of acquiring short friends, though; that’s not very danish. next time.

also, last night, a bouncer hit me in the mouth. i’m not sure what it means when a bouncer hits you in the mouth, but i’m hesitant to wonder too hard because it can’t be very nice. why would .. to be fair, it might have been that stupid thing where you inspect someone’s lapel and then when they look downward to see what the deal is you smack them up a little on the nose.. but this guy sort of stuck his hand at me and tugged my collar and then whacked me on the lips. i invoke the “WTF.” it is justified.

ohhhhh i drank too many mojitos (1). one mojito and my stomach feels kind of deterred for life, though the brown sugar crystals at the bottom of the glass were kind of a sensory pleasure stand-in for bubble tea. i’m tired and i’m going to go to bed even though the danes will be up for another four hours. tonight i was walking home from the train station and as i passed beneath an open window i heard a roomful of voices break into the refrain of “i kissed a girl.” i smiled, and i missed [home].

eliot st-mpf, huh? well i’ll be darned.

send booze. send reinforcements.

love,
lucy

p.s. Frumpy Angela studies minorities, not bes one. otherwise she would be a “studies major,” which is not the case.
p.p.s. you’re twelve. this is ridiculous (re: attached).

i decided to do the commute to school in heels today because, as you probably know, i’m really into masochism (love it) and i haven’t found any dungeons on my block so far, although i’m pretty sure the clerk at the magazine store threatened to do something naughty and/or violent to me when i tried to shortchange him by five kroner yesterday morning. i got to baresso at ten for a class at 11:40, thinking i’d go through the compendium and learn a little bit about the advent of film before i had to get over to the DIS compound (yeah, it’s kind of freaky) for our first class meeting.

i studied,

i left,

i made a really, really wrong turn somewhere in the should’ve-been-three-blocks between the coffee shop and school,

and when i finally arrived, ten minutes late, to the classroom at vestergade 7-31, and tried to gracefully sneak while clutching my poorly assembled coffee cup, holding onto a bulky trenchcoat beneath one arm, carrying a giant bag full of textbooks, and tottering on the warped wood floors in three and a half inch heels, I DID THE GROCERY STORE THING AGAIN. i shut the door on my motherfucking trench coat in the stupid ass door and it would not open no matter what i did and everyone was staring at me and after about thirty-five incredibly long seconds the teacher finally had to come over and open the door for me using some kind of deadbolt voodoo and then i almost tromped on every single person in the back row on my way to the squishiest sliver of space allotted to the middle seat, because i am a retardephant.

loren, it seems, has not made any friends she’s too interested in either, because she sent me an SMS today which i hadn’t gotten when i ran into her in the hall and she asked if i wanted to get together before the DIS welcome party at luux tonight (http://www.luuxcph.dk/ — you have to click that link and listen to it). of course i said yes. we’re meeting at the train sta’ at nine. the partay invite comes with slips for free cover and two free bevs. this will be my first vrai opportunity to make an ass of myself outside of school hours. wish you were here.